Authority: Allies
by spot-the-emu
Summary: The first of a trilogy, Allies is the story of Callie, a girl of Five Points, and her encounters with the famous Spot Conlon. --Not a romance.
1. Chapter1

Authority: Allies  
  
  
  
Author's Note: I own Callie, Green, Cricket, Crash, Chain, Jimmy, Wheat, and a few others not mentioned in this part. This is the first story I've ever been proud of writing. I wrote it three years ago and finally got it re-edited. I've worked way too hard on this story alone, so feedback would be awesome. Thanks!  
  
  
  
-----  
  
  
  
Callie was sitting in the padded chair watching Medda, the Swedish Meadowlark perform one of her latest songs. The music swelled and Medda, clad in pink, fluttered off the stage, assumedly to get ready for her next song. She could smell the drunk men downstairs, and hear them grunting and yelling obscenely. She wasn't particularly enjoying the show, but Irving Hall provided comfortable if not worn out seats. Callie was just glad to be sitting. It had been a long day running her establishment out in Five Points, gambling and conning innocent people on the streets.  
  
She took off her newsie-style cap, revealing masses of dark hair braided down both halves of her head. The dark strands met in the middle and were tied in a knot of sorts. Callie was dressed in newsie-style clothes also. She sported a button-down shirt with a vest over it. Everything about her represented a newsie, right down to the dust and dirt. It was how Callie wanted to look. She wanted to blend in, be who she wasn't. The disguise hid her muscled body well.  
  
Someone near Callie's seat in the balcony coughed loudly. It was the fake cough only meant to catch someone's attention. She looked around to identify the source. She found herself looking straight into the deep fathomless blue-grey eyes of a newsie flanked by two other brutes.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asked innocently, mocking the look of accusation on the boy's face.  
  
"Yeah, I think you can." He was definitely the leader, even though he was of skinny stature. "You can get the hell outta my seat."  
  
"Didn't see no sign identifyin' it as yours."  
  
"Don't need ta be a sign. It's just automatically assumed that this seat here is Spot Conlon's seat." He indicated the chair Callie was sitting with a gold tipped cane. "You're in my way girl. If ya don't move, I might have my friends here remove ya."  
  
"My name ain't 'girl'. And I'd just like ta see your friends try and move me."  
  
Spot nodded. The two Brooklyn newsies behind him saw the signal and immediately yanked Callie out of her seat roughly. She in turn jumped up and kneed one of the boys in the groin. While he was doubled over, she gave the other a sharp smack in the jaw with her elbow. He fell to the ground rubbing his chin. Callie promptly sat back down.  
  
"Girl! Get your ass out of my chair!" Spot was mad now. No one disobeyed his orders, especially not a girl. He was the fearless Brooklyn leader; no one dared to defy him. He stopped his goons from attempting to soak her again. "You just made yourself unwelcome in Brooklyn. You set foot in Brooklyn then your ass is mine. Got it?" His eyes blazed with an internal fire. His stature was rigid, ready to take her on if she dared to defy him again. His face held a smirk of effortless control and anger. It was one that normal people feared. Callie, on the other hand, stood up and gestured towards the seat in a mock bow.  
  
"Have a seat. Enjoy it now that the show's ovah." She smirked. "An' remember. I may be public a enemy in your territory, but that makes you not welcome in mine too. You show your face in my territory, then you're gonna be beggin' me for forgiveness." Callie twisted her cap in her hand glaring back at the Brooklyn newsie. Easily she brushed him aside prepared to make an exit. Spot grabbed her arm. Callie whipped around and faced him. They were inches from each other.  
  
"Don't forget my warnin' girl. Your ass is mine."  
  
"My name's Callie. Don't you forget it." She jerked her arm away and stalked towards the exit. Not once did she look back at the arrogant newsie.  
  
Spot was seething. Not only did that girl have the guts to defy him, but she had spent so much time aggravating him that he had missed Medda's new act. Spot struck out at the closest of his newsies. He caught the guy in the jaw.  
  
"'m sorry, Spot, but you saw 'er." He mumbled rubbing his bruised jaw.  
  
"Let's go. Don't talk about her 'cept to tell the others to soak her if they see 'er in Brooklyn." The boys nodded their agreement. Spot put his cane back in his belt loop and led his newsies out of Irving Hall. Just wait girl…Callie. You'll get yours.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Callie leaned against the brick wall outside of Medda's place to smoke a cigarette. Quietly she searched her pockets for a match. "Dammit." She couldn't find one. Callie turned and struck the wall with a balled up fist. Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? What a jerk. Brooklyn was well known for their poker games, and she didn't want to be left out.  
  
Just then a shadowed figure sauntered along down the street.  
  
"Heya Race. How's it rollin'?" Callie walked out towards him.  
  
"Hey Cards. Remembah that tip I told ya I got from that newsie in Queens?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well nevah trust the Queens for tips on horses." Race took a puff on his cigar. "Whatcha hangin' out heah for?"  
  
"I was at Medda's new show when I had a run-in with your famous Spot Conlon." Her brow furrowed as she thought about the encounter.  
  
Racetrack laughed. "Five ta one that you didn't quite hit it off. Eh?"  
  
Callie took a friendly swing at him. "Bum odds ya gamblin' fool." She slowed her gait to a stop. "This is where the road ends. I'll see ya tomorrah." She looked out at the darkening sky. "Oh yeah, 'bout tomorrow. We're hostin' some big outta towners. It's gonna be a huge night. Tell Jacky-boy and the rest of them. Lots of money at stake." She grinned mischievously. "It's gonna be a fun one."  
  
Racetrack grinned back.  
  
"I'll tell 'im. See ya Cards."  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Callie stood, the next afternoon, on the three-foot wide balcony overlook in her warehouse. She supposed it was where supervisors had stood to oversee production, but they had abandoned it. Now it was hers. She surveyed the floor. The tables were set up with cheap stools and broken chairs around them. She smiled with satisfaction. Her boys leaned against the walls smoking, waiting for her approval. Callie jumped over the short railing and flew down the ten feet. She landed with a thud but managed to stay on her feet.  
  
"Looks good, boys." They grinned knowing that the work was done. They waited for her dismissal. "I need to ask a favor of you tonight though." This drew their attention. Their leader never needed anything except loyalty from them. "If any of you sees a Brooklyn newsie here tonight, find me, no mattah what." Callie's eyes blazed, but her voice remained steady.  
  
"Whatevah you say, boss," the biggest of the boys said.  
  
His name was Crash. He was Callie's biggest backer when she had taken the Five Points warehouse. She had clashed with the Five Points newsies' leader, Chain, who was as good as his name. Quite a few of his newsies, namely Crash, Cricket, and Jimmy, had stepped up to join with Callie because she would not only verbally defy Chain, but she'd back it up with her fist. Her fearlessness convinced them to join with her. Because of Callie's "agreement" with Chain, all who had joined with her were still allowed to remain newsies in the Five Points region.  
  
Callie was also as good as the name her boys had given her: Cards. She was the queen of all card games involving money. She spent her days conning people out of hard earned cash by flipping a couple of cards and playing a few hands. She had also opened the warehouse to newsies and other street kids, in the effort of expanding her game. In short, she ruled the world of gamblers.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
That night around eight o'clock, newsies started arriving, followed by the out-of-towners Callie had told Race about. When Manhattan arrived, she pulled Race aside. His love for gambling matched if not exceeded her own, so Callie had found a unique friend in him, a newsie.  
  
"Race, tell your guys ta watch their pockets tonight. The gang I brought in here travels around. They," she paused looking for the right words. "touch people for money, if you get what I mean." She grinned, the atmosphere of the already beginning games getting to her.  
  
Race also smiled. "T'anks, Cards." He hurried off to the closest table, eager to begin the betting. Callie rolled her eyes and turned around to look for Manhattan's leader, Jack. She ambled over to talk to him about the pickpockets, figuring he might care.  
  
"Say, Jack." She caught his attention.  
  
"How's it hangin' Cards?"  
  
"It's good, Jack." They spit-shook. "I just wanted to let ya know that the boys from outta town, they might go looking in your pockets. You should let your boys know." Jack nodded, accepting the helpful hint.  
  
"T'anks Cards. I'll let 'em know." With that said, he went off to notify the others, unlike Race.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
After hours of gambling (and winning), Callie retreated to her balcony. Once up there she lit a cigarette to clear her mind. Before she knew it, Cricket had snuck up next to her. He had the uncanny ability to do that, no matter how alert she was.  
  
"Cards?" he asked tentatively. Callie's boys were forbidden to climb up to her outlook, but she had said to find her no matter what. Still, Cricket was hesitant. "Some of the Brooklyn boys snuck in without us catchin' them. Spot's here too."  
  
Callie looked up at him sharply. The little boy trembled a bit. "Go get Crash an' Wheat. We're gonna give 'em a nice Five Points style good-bye." Cricket skittered off. Callie stood up and stretched. She was ready for this fight. Cricket, Wheat, and Crash appeared below her spot on the balcony. "Let's go greet mistah Conlon boys." She jumped off, and landed beside them. Callie led them through the loud smoky room to where Crash had pointed Spot out.  
  
Callie stepped up behind Spot to aggravate him. He whirled on her. "What the hell do you think you're doin' behind me?" His eyes deepened into angrier slits when he recognized her. "What are you doin' here, girl? This place is for newsies only." He spat each word out at her.  
  
She smirked at him, keeping her hatred under control. She stared straight back into his blue-grey eyes and answered him. "I was about to ask you the same thing, seein' as I told you to keep the hell outta my territory!" She gave a short snort of laughter when the realization crept into his eyes. "So I suggest you leave before we give you a traditional Five Points kick in the ass."  
  
Spot glared back into Callie's normally bright green eyes that were darkened with anger. "I'd like to see you try," he dared her.  
  
Callie grinned at the challenge. Other newsies at the table Spot had been playing at looked uncomfortable. They shifted anxiously. "Alright. Let's see what ya got Conlon."  
  
Callie faked a punch at his eye with her right and caught his stomach with her left. Immediately Spot was flanked with two beefy Brooklyn boys. Crash and Wheat responded by grabbing the Brooklyn boys, but Callie held her hand up to stop them.  
  
"Let's just say that if you get your boys out, then we'll save it for another time when you're…more prepared." She gave a haughty laugh. Spot's fist flashed and caught her jaw. Callie stopped mid-laugh. "Now, Conlon." She pointed towards the door. If looks could kill, the one she gave him should have maimed him.  
  
Spot reluctantly called off his thugs and retreated towards the door. "Your ass is mine, girl!"  
  
"Guttersnipe!" Many newsies looked on with interest, but most continued their games. Callie let her boys get back to the gambling, but she retreated back to her perch above them all. Her jaw ached but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction by acknowledging it, and the night passed without further incident. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alrighty. I have all of this story written already, so the posting will be semi-frequent, and if you're that anxious to read more, it's already online too. www.geocities.com/darkcloud04/newsies/fanfiction/authority.html  
  
Quick SO:  
  
Fruit of the Vine-- Thanks for being my first reviewer ever!! *hugs* You're awesome. :)  
  
Now, on to the fic.  
  
-----  
  
The next morning Callie didn't wake up. To awaken, one must first be asleep, and that wasn't the case with Callie. She had spent the night watching the last few dregs of gamblers lose or win money and leave. The out-of-towners left with more money than some of the winners, but that was to be expected of them. Callie wasn't going to restrict their occupation. After the last few had left, her boys had climbed up the stairs opposite her balcony to the makeshift bunkroom they had created. The tall warehouse contained many rooms above the large ground floor one. Callie even claimed one room to herself, but she never ventured up there during the passing night.  
  
She stubbed out another cigarette. Smoking was one of her bad habits. She smoked even more when she was thinking or particularly annoyed or angry with someone or something. In this case her thoughts centered on a particular Brooklyn leader. His arrogance made her blood boil; his stubbornness matched her own and promised more trouble than it was worth. She searched her pockets for another cigarette, but upon not finding one she stood up and slammed a fist into the wall. Wincing but otherwise ignoring the pain shooting up her arm, Callie leaned her forehead against the cool steel outer wall.  
  
It was another day, and she had work to do. Disgusted, Callie turned around and climbed down off the balcony to leave the house. She glanced around the still-smoky interior and wished that she had something more. She didn't though, and that wasn't going to change.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Sometime around lunchtime, Callie wandered through Manhattan. She loved being there. The people were more trusting, and the newsies made up the most ridiculous headlines. They were always easy to laugh at, if the real headlines were known. She walked around, through the park, and towards the racetrack. There, she met up with Race, who was coming back.  
  
"Heya Race. How was the track?" Callie fell into step beside him, going the opposite direction she had started in.  
  
"Hey Cards. Won some money on the fifth. Not too much though. You headin' to Tibby's?" he queried.  
  
Callie thought for a minute before answering. "You know how I feel about newsies." Callie smiled a small smile, remembering her earlier life. "Newsies saved my ass multiple times, but it don't mean that I'm indebted to all of ya." Race slung an arm across her shoulders, knocking into the knot that her braids had been tied in at the base of her neck. "Race!" Callie mockingly whined, imitating the stuffy rich girls. "You're gonna mess up my hair!"  
  
Race laughed at her. "Like ya really care about that Cards." He smiled at her. "Jus' because we were good to you a long time ago, don't mean that we ain't good anymore. And just because you had a few bad run-ins with some other newsies, it doesn't make us all jerks."  
  
"I s'pose, but don't expect me to be too civil."  
  
Racetrack laughed again. "Like you's ever civil."  
  
The pair continued to banter until they reached Tibby's. Cards walked into the diner with what seemed to Racetrack as a mask of confidence and little care. She was greeted by clapping and many "Heya!"'s. A few of the newsies lifted their drinks and one shouted out, "To the girl with the best damn place for poker!" Cards threw her head back and laughed whole-heartedly. Race was right; the Manhattan crew was a good bunch.  
  
Jack excused himself from his booth and walked over to her. He spit in his hand; Callie did the same. The two leaders shook, and Jack smiled. "I heard, from a certain Brooklyn source, dat you ain't the most pleasant of the girls." Jack frowned slightly. "You confused me last night. You must be a pretty good leadah if you warned us about the pickpockets when you didn't have to." He studied Callie, waiting for a response. She shrugged.  
  
"I ain't particularly fond of Brooklyn either, but that don't mean I'm a bad leadah. I protect my boys, and watch out for the others. I'da done the same for Brooklyn if we didn't have our…differences." She smirked. Differences, what a laugh. Conlon's a jerk, ain't no way 'round that.  
  
Race looked at Callie when her attention had wandered away from Jack. "So tell me again why ya don't like newsies?" he asked.  
  
Callie looked at him fiercely. "My past is my past. If you needed to know, I'd tell you, but because you don't, back off." Race held his hands up defensively.  
  
"Don't accuse me of pryin', Cards. You know I wouldn't. Why would I do that?"  
  
"Fine. Maybe we'll talk later. Now I want some food."  
  
Racetrack shook his head at the change in his friend. She could be the best person; she could be the worst. It just depended on the way she was talked to.  
  
He sat next to the gambling queen and ate lunch while laughing and joking with his friends. Callie even participated at times, her foul mood fading away.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
"So you see, it was all about the power. If Pulitzer gave in to street rats like us, we'd have the power, and we could do anything. That's why the strike was so important," Jack continued his retelling of the newsies strike. Many of the newsies yawned but Callie remained interested and thoughtful. "We beat the big-boys out of the money they stole from us." Jack leaned back to finish. "So that's the power of the press."  
  
Callie rolled her eyes. The newsies thought too much of themselves, and though Callie liked the easy-going Manhattan newsies, memories of her past wouldn't let her fully relax with them. The story Jack had just told had a good point though.  
  
It's all about power. Power of the press; power of the people. We all struggle for power. Callie leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed in thought.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
A while later, Callie walked out of Tibby's with Racetrack close behind her. She searched her pockets again for a cigarette, but still found none. "So what'dya wanna talk about, Race?"  
  
Race answered her question with a blunt one of his own. "Why don't you like newsies? What's wrong with us?"  
  
Callie glanced at him sideways and thought before answering. "Well, I've told you about my old job, right?" Race nodded. "So I won't go into that again. But while I was …workin', a newsie caught me. He called for da bulls and I got caught. The guy spat on me when I was taken away. An' when I escaped and got here to New York, all I see anywhere is newsies. I didn't have quite the happy experience with Five Points, and not with the Bronx eithah. Now Brooklyn's up my ass too. You Manhattan boys aren't bad. Totally harmless, which is crazy, but you don't second-guess those of us with not-so-hot reputations. You trust too easily, but it's easier to like you guys." Callie shrugged. "Dat's about all."  
  
Race laughed. "We ain't harmless. And your boys aren't that bad either are they?"  
  
"Nah, my boys aren't bad at all. They're real good an' loyal. I can't ask them to do more for me. I'd have 'em quit selling papers if I knew they wanted to, but they seem ta like it."  
  
They continued their conversation, while walking in the general direction of the racetracks. Once there, they placed bets on various horses and settled down to watch. Callie won a few and lost a few, causing her to come out about even. Racetrack, however, won more than usual, so he was in a chipper mood. Around the time Race decided to go meet the guys at Tibby's again, Spot Conlon showed up. He sauntered over to say hello to Race, but stopped short when he noticed whom Race was with.  
  
"Well if it ain't the devil herself," he stated dryly.  
  
"Why, if my eyes don't deceive me, then I must say that the Almighty Spot Conlon has decided to grace us with his presence," Callie shot back, her green eyes darkening yet again.  
  
"Girl, you're in my seat, again," Spot said with a glare. Race looked between the two with a mixture of fear and confusion playing over his face. All he knew was that he didn't want to get between them when the fighting started.  
  
"I do believe this looks rather similar, don't it Conlon," Callie mocked menacingly.  
  
Spot reached down and grabbed her collar, pulling her up to a standing position. Their faces were inches apart when he growled, "Tonight, the pier, after dark. I'll be waiting."  
  
Callie jerked out of his grasp. "I'll be there." Spot gave her a shove away from 'his' chair. "Touch me again, Conlon, and I'll kill you. I swear it." She stormed out of Sheepshead.  
  
"What the hell was that about, Spot? Geez, all she was doin'…" Race was interrupted by an angry Spot.  
  
"She's a pain in my ass. That's what she is. I don't want you to go and defend her now. She does a fine job by herself," Spot growled.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Callie stomped off toward her boys' favorite hangout. Like the Manhattan newsies, her boys liked to be together, and they hung out in similar areas, such as the square. The reason why was beyond Callie's understanding; it wsa just a small block of grass and trees. Still, it gave her a place to look for them.  
  
When she reached the square in Five Points, Jimmy ran up to her. He could see the anger displayed on her face. Jimmy was never one to either question Callie's judgment or let her feed them bull. He always called her bluffs, and he was always the first to assess what was wrong in her life.  
  
"What's going on, Cards? What is it this time?" His questions implied that this wasn't the first time that Callie had gotten herself into a fight. He was correct, but this was the first time it involved newsies such as themselves.  
  
Callie's brow furrowed in thought. "Brooklyn called me out. Tonight, Spot Conlon and I are gonna fight. I dunno if he'll call his newsies out into a rumble, but I want you to be there if 'e does. I'm not gettin' my butt kicked by the whole Brooklyn army." Jimmy laughed sarcastically. Callie smiled mockingly. "I know it ain't nevah happened before, but there won't be a first. Now go tell my boys ta get ready for a rumble tonight…maybe. And you remember my rule! No weapons, even if they bring out the chains and knives, you are not fighting with a weapon. It ain't fair." Callie looked at Jimmy hard, making sure that he understood his assignment. He nodded and left to go tell the others. Callie then turned to go back to her warehouse. She had things to do. 


	3. Chapter 3

Alrighty then.  
  
Ershey: WAH. I love your reviews. :) You're so great... now if you would just put out MORE fic MORE often! Lol. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Keza: Thank you bunches for that review, again!  
  
Lanen: Haha, Callie is one of my favorite names too, though not my own. I'm glad you like it so far! :)  
  
And the fic:  
  
-----  
  
Callie trod over the path of alleyways that she had made her way through thousands of times. She walked in silence; the only noises were the sounds of the other people on the streets she happened to pass. She was on her way over to Manhattan to talk to Racetrack. Race might be able to tell her Spot's weaknesses, where she should hit him first. She never rushed into a fight without at least thinking it over a bit. If at all possible, Callie would call rumbles for evenings, giving herself time to plan. Never had she completely lost. She wasn't going to make it the first time.  
  
Callie felt very out of place as she strode into Tibby's. She looked around at the newsies. A few had noticed her entrance. Some knew who she was, but mainly they knew her tough reputation. "Has anyone seen Race lately?" Blank faces stared back at her. Of course, she thought. They won't tell me where he is. He's their brother; they won't rat him out. Callie's thoughts made preparation bleak. She sat down opposite a newsie whose name she remembered. "Dutchy?" she queried. "Would you tell me where Race is? I need to talk to him. It's important." Dutchy searched her green eyes for a minute before answering.  
  
"Last I knew, he was down at the track with you."  
  
Callie gave him a brief smile. "Thanks, Dutch." Callie got up and left without further words.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
A while later, around dinnertime, Callie woke up in her room in the warehouse. Quickly she ran out to observe the sun. It was still hanging in the sky, but it was slightly lower than she had hoped. There was just enough time to make it to Brooklyn, if she ran. Callie cursed herself silently. If she ran to Brooklyn, she'd be too tired to put up a good fight. Her eyes lit upon something that seemed an answer to her prayers. A trolley car was ambling down the road. Without a second thought, she grabbed the edge and hopped on for a free ride.  
  
Minutes later she arrived much closer to Brooklyn. Callie breathed a sigh of relief as she noted the sun's position. At a leisurely pace, she walked towards the Brooklyn docks. When the sun was just dipping below the hazy horizon, Callie was casually leaning against one of the railings along the pier.  
  
"Well, ya showed up!" Spot's voice interrupted the peaceful atmosphere. "I dunno if that was a very smart move," he warned her.  
  
"You sound surprised. Everyone knows it ain't kind to turn down an invitation. Especially one when it's not wise to not come. Besides, I'm gonna enjoy kickin' your ass." Callie grinned. Her knuckles ached, yearning to punch him. Every bone in her body waited impatiently for the fight to start. Even so, Callie's brain remained intact. She realized that this fight could be a long and difficult one. "Just a precaution, though. You keep your boys outta this, I keep mine from rearranging their faces. Got it?"  
  
"Yeah, I got it," Spot sneered at her. "No scratching or hair pulling either. I don't want none of that girly fighting. And one more thing: I nevah hit girls unless they hit me first, so give it your best shot, girl."  
  
"My name's Callie."  
  
The two raised their fists and circled each other. Tense determination played over Spot's face while Callie kept her emotions in check so that they wouldn't give anything away. A memory flickered in the back of her mind. She could hear her father advise her brother on fighting technique. Fight low with your eyes open and toward the play. Be on your toes every minute if you expect to make it good. She shook herself back to the present. This was her fight, not theirs. The intensity in the darkened air was thick. The closer they circled the more heated their anger became.  
  
Suddenly, Callie faked a jab at Spot's jaw causing him to strike out at her, but she easily blocked it and jammed a fist into his gut. She backed off for a minute watching Spot get up from being doubled-over.  
  
"So I thought I got ta throw the first punch, Spot. What happened there?" she asked, trying to get a rise out of him. It worked. Spot threw a punch that landed hard on Callie's cheekbone. From then on, it was an all-out brawl. For each punch Callie would throw at him, Spot retaliated. It was a very evenly matched battle.  
  
Callie used several different kicks that easily found their target until Spot became the wiser and learned how to block them and attack at the same time. Callie punched Spot's face and kicked his legs out from underneath him, but Spot would grab her leg as he fell and twist, disabling another quick attack from above.  
  
Both were bloody and bruised when the Manhattan boys showed up. Racetrack, knowing the fight would still be going, had told some of the other newsies and brought them down to break it up if at all possible.  
  
Upon seeing that the two now had an audience coming, other than their own newsies, Callie made a lightning decision. She let Spot hit her face again; gritting her teeth to stop the pain, she swiftly spun around catching his cheek with her elbow. Spot fell to the ground. Jack started walking over to the fighters without his other newsies. He was looking to break up the struggle, when Callie bent over and offered Spot her hand. She looked straight in his eyes, and Spot, being the respectable leader he was, searched them, looking for any ounce of hostility or menace before accepting the hand she gave him. When she had pulled him up, Jack stood stunned a few feet away from them.  
  
A wave of respect and understanding washed over Callie. They regarded each other carefully, and maintained a firm grip on the others hand, daring the other to let go first. It's all about the power, Callie thought. Then, giving in to fatigue, she dropped Spot's hand, at the same time he dropped hers. Both looked, in shock, at where their hands had been. Jack was still standing near them, speechless.  
  
Callie was the first to find herself. In a hushed voice that seemed appropriate for the setting, she spoke to Spot. "I'm willing to let your boys back into my territory if you give us free passage through Brooklyn. That means no trouble."  
  
The two leaders stared straight into the others eyes before either made a move, and when that happened, Spot was the first. He slowly reached his right hand up to his bruised face and spit in it. He then stuck it out towards Callie who was doing the same. She showed a battered smile. They shook.  
  
When the deal was done, Callie turned her back to Spot and the others, a careful understanding between them all. She whistled loud and sharp. Her boys, what small number there were, came out from where they had been. From Crash to Cricket, the largest to the smallest, they had all followed their leader faithfully. She whistled again, a signal for them to go home, but she beckoned for one of them to wait. Jimmy, understanding, waited loyally for his leader, in the case she needed help getting home.  
  
Callie turned back to Spot who was taking his boys back and called out to him. "It's all about power, Spot, all about the power."  
  
Spot nodded, a new admiration for the fearless Five Points leader forming. They understood each other and what the other would do for his or her boys. Spot left with one final statement. He uttered but a single word. "Callie." 


	4. Chapter 4

Let us see. Who do I love today??  
  
I love:  
  
Ershey-wershey... Your reviews always make me so happy, because I have such respect for you and your writing. Thank you!  
  
Keza... The same goes for you as with Ershey. Totally the best criticism I've ever received, and I really appreciate it, because when I go back and edit next time, I know what to work on. I'm going to start posting another fic I've started to write (lol, three years more recent than this one!), and I would love to know what you think of the writing compared to Authority... Okay, well, really I just love reviews, but it would be cool to know what you thought. :) Thanks!  
  
-----  
  
Callie spent the entire next morning in her bed, as uncomfortable as it was, until she finally ventured to look at her reflection in the makeshift mirror. She was as bruised and colorful as she felt. It took all of her resolve not to climb back into bed. Somehow she managed to put her hair, which was wildly tangled because of the night before, into her standard double braid. She walked out of the warehouse. Squinting in the bright light, she made her way to Brooklyn, trying to ignore her pounding headache.  
  
Before the problem with Spot, she had worked the Brooklyn streets. A master con artist, Callie made her money on three corners while avoiding the bulls. After Spot and Callie's 'arrangement', Callie went to Manhattan to play her cards.  
  
She reached her favorite and most productive corner. Callie went directly to the alley where she stored her barrels that posed as a table and chair. She stayed at the alley opening, relishing the shade of it. Squinting, she moved back out into the sunlight to set up.  
  
"You look like you had a rough night," mocked a voice no longer full of menace. Callie turned around to see a battered Spot.  
  
"You don't look so hot either." She grinned, studying her handiwork. "So what are you botherin' me for?" she asked playfully, wary of the real reason he was there.  
  
"Well, I was just gonna tell Cards about the big pokah game in Manhattan. Figured that this famous card shark might like some real competition. My boys said he was down here, but instead of findin' Cards, I find you."  
  
Callie smirked. "So the famous Spot Conlon doesn't know everything. Amazing."  
  
"Actually, the famous Spot Conlon does know now. I don't understand why though," he replied.  
  
"You see, I was right. It is all about the power—even names."  
  
"But why Callie?"  
  
"It's my name, my real name." Callie paused. "How'd you know?"  
  
"I know a lot." Spot glared as Callie rolled her eyes. "We knew about you back when you came to New York an' joined the warehouse fight, but we always figured Crash was in charge."  
  
A confused look flickered across Callie's face, but she quickly brushed it aside. "So you knew me as Cards?"  
  
Spot grinned and nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"Then why they confusion at the warehouse? I told you not to come, but you came anyway. Why risk a fight if you knew?"  
  
"Why risk a fight? You're a scrawny little girl with a big mouth. You expected me take you seriously?" Callie fumed and opened her mouth, ready to snap back with a witty retort but Spot continued before she could. "I sent someone down to check you out, but we all thought Crash was in charge."  
  
Callie calmed a little and smirked proudly. "Yeah, that's what it's s'posed to look like."  
  
"Well, if Crash was in charge, you had no real authority. Why would I listen to you?  
  
"Who did you send to check up on me?"  
  
"Why do you want to know?" he replied.  
  
"I think I have a right to know."  
  
Spot sighed and stubbed his cigarette out. "Riley," he said.  
  
"The prissy blonde?"  
  
"Yeah, the prissy blonde, but she's smarter than you might think. She said you an' Crash were close but you did a pretty damn good job keepin' her from finding anything else out."  
  
"Wheat was always a sucker for blondes," she muttered bitterly.  
  
Spot watched as Callie fiddled with her worn out cards, lost in her own mind. "Are you any good?"  
  
"What?" she asked, confused. Spot pointed at the cards in her hands. "Oh, right." She grinned. "I'm decent, you wanna play a hand?"  
  
"Nah, the deck's stacked." Callie watched helplessly as some of her potential customers walked away. Spot grinned maliciously.  
  
"What did you go and do that for? I can take you, ya know." Callie stood up to accentuate her words.  
  
"Come on then!" Spot raised his fists, still grinning. He knew that both of them had had enough fighting the previous night; he just wanted Callie to back down first.  
  
"No, not today. Maybe tomorrow," she answered reluctantly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.  
  
Spot grinned, knowing he'd won. "So you're comin' tonight?"  
  
"Yeah. Race already told me 'bout it."  
  
Spot tipped his hat. "See ya tonight then."  
  
"It's always about power, Spot, even names," she called after him.  
  
Spot smirked at her over his shoulder. "What? So the name Spot don't fill ya with fear?"  
  
Callie laughed at his retreating figure.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Callie snuffed out the cigarette that she had been smoking outside the Manhattan newsies' lodging house. She had made enough that day to buy cigarettes, dinner, and manage to have more than enough for poker. The sun had already set and some of the oil lamps were being lit. With a last glance around, Callie went into the building followed closely by Wheat. Wheat was one of Callie's constant reminders of her past. He, like she, had grown up in the Midwest. Wheat was a farmer boy though, thus his name.  
  
Callie had brought Wheat along because he was the only one of her newsies not busy with a girl that particular night. Callie didn't mess around in her boys' lives, and they didn't mess with hers. Girls, however, were not allowed to hang around her warehouse, unless they had permission from Callie herself.  
  
Wheat, the loner, kept close to Callie inside the house. In the lobby she cast a curious eye around the room. It was noisy; they were obviously late. Kloppman, the man who cared for the newsboys' house, rolled his eyes and motioned towards the stairs. She smiled at him and hurried up the stairs. There, she was met by a stuffy crowded room. Wheat left her side and joined the closest table with Kid Blink, Mush, and Dutchy. Callie pushed her way through the boys toward the table where Racetrack, Jack, and a few others were seated. A few of the boys she passed stared at her, being the only girl. Callie just shrugged off the looks. She was here to play poker.  
  
"Well look what the cat drug in. I see you took to colorin' your face, Cards." Race joked. "I never figured you as a girl who would go for that."  
  
Callie laughed. "If ya don't watch your mouth, we could work on your face too." Callie sat. "So what are we playin'?"  
  
"Poker. Five-card draw. Not too high on the bettin' yet. We gotta wait for Brooklyn to get here first."  
  
Callie quirked her eyebrow, and a few newsies cast an awkward worried glance at her.   
  
"So we gotta wait for the master himself?" she drawled.  
  
"You're new at our poker games. Ya don't know the rules yet. Once they gets here, the real games begin. It just works that way. We don't ask." Race shrugged, not really caring.  
  
After half an hour of "light" betting, Spot and some of his Brooklyn newsies showed up. A few snide remarks were exchanged between Callie and he, but after a few minutes, they settled down to really play. It went on with outrageous money stakes and the trading of chores for hours. In the wee hours of the morning, only a few of the tougher newsies were left.  
  
Spot looked at his hand for a minute before tossing his coins in the pile. "I'll raise ya a bet, Cards." He stared straight at her with his never-fading smirk. "If I win this here hand, you have to wear your hair down and a dress to the party on Saturday."  
  
Callie's smile faded. A dress. Callie hadn't worn a dress since she was about three. She despised the ugly things. Dresses didn't allow girls to run from the bulls. Pants were more of a convenience. The fighter in Callie didn't want to back down so hastily she replied. "Okay, but if I win, you wear the dress." She lifted an eyebrow at him, daring him to back down.  
  
Unfortunately for Callie, Spot didn't back down but spit in his hand. Feeling beaten, even though the hand had not been played out, she did the same. The two shook and Callie glared. Her hand wasn't that great. She had two pair, Kings and eights. Race called, and they all lay down their cards. Just as she had suspected, Spot won. He had somehow managed to get a full house. The guys grinned, knowing that Callie would hate wearing the dress. Callie glared at the table, not ready to acknowledge her loss.  
  
Spot slapped her back, causing her to look up. "I guess we'll be seeing you in that dress after all. Jack's girl can fix ya up real nice." He laughed. "And no gettin' out of it." He said the last bit staring straight into her eyes.  
  
Callie rolled her eyes. "I don't go back on bets. Now tell me when an' where."  
  
"Saturday, around sunset, at Medda's." Callie nodded curtly, accepting Race's answer.  
  
"I think Wheat and I should best be goin' before I get myself into more dresses." She stood. "I do, howevah, have most of your money." She grinned as she pocketed her cash. Callie turned and gathered Wheat from where he sat on a corner bunk talking softly with the girl Callie now knew as Riley. Good-byes were said and the Five Points duo left. 


	5. Chapter 5

Alrighty. I meant to have this up sooner, but with some major issues this week, I've been pretty darn busy. Boys make me crazy. Anyway.  
  
Ershey: *eats the cookies* Thank you so much! Lol, you were apologizing for not reviewing...just like me with my lazy late reviews. :) Speaking of which... You haven't posted anything in a lonnnng time! Get to it! Haha, thanks for the reviews!  
  
Keza: Again, I love your reviews. I save them all on the document for later. They're great! Thanks!  
  
-----  
  
Saturday was fast approaching and Callie was still no closer to finding a dress "appropriate" for the newsies' party. According to Race, the party was by invite only, but because Callie had to be there, her newsies were allowed also. Callie's boys had their dates all lined up and constantly teased her about needing to dress up and not having a date.  
  
Each passing day brought new worries about failing to fulfill her lost bet's obligation. So one day, Callie pulled Jack aside, on her way to see Race. "Heya, Kelly. I need a favor."  
  
Jack rolled his eyes expecting it to be something to help get her out of the bet. "Whaddya want, Cards?"  
  
"Geez, ya sound so excited ta help me."  
  
"Well, fine." He made his tone sickeningly pleasant. "What can I do for you, Cards?"  
  
Cards smirked, but then, remembering her task, dropped it. "Are you still with Davey's sister?" Jack nodded, wondering where the conversation was going. "You think that I could borrow a dress or something…" Callie trailed off, embarrassed by the word.  
  
Jack threw his head back and laughed. Callie socked him in the stomach. Jack stopped quickly and threw her a glance. "I thought you were kidding."  
  
"Do I look kidding to you, Kelly?" She glared at him.  
  
Jack held his hands up in submission. "Fine, fine. I'll take ya to her house. You can talk to her yourself." The two walked in silence until they reached the Jacobs' apartment.  
  
"Thanks, Jack." He nodded and headed off. Callie knocked timidly.  
  
A girl around Callie's height, if not a bit taller, answered the door. "Yes?" She asked, curious.  
  
"Sarah?" The girl nodded. "Well I'm Callie, but the newsies know me as Cards," Callie started, but Sarah broke in with a wide smile.  
  
"I've heard so much about you. Come in!" she said cheerfully. Sarah grabbed Callie's arm and pulled her into the apartment. Callie sighed. This is going to be a long afternoon, she thought.  
  
Hours later, after much painstaking enthusiasm on Sarah's part, Callie drug herself out of the Jacobs' house with a dress in tow. It was plain, which was just fine with Callie. Its color was a dark brown. The dress had been a bit big on Callie, but Sarah had insisted on fixing it. Callie had spent the afternoon with a dress on with doily-sewing Sarah poking at her. By the time she left, the dress fit Callie perfectly. The neck was scooped, but not low. The bodice was tighter than Callie would have like, because if she ever wanted to move faster than a walk, the seam would split. Sarah, however, thought it looked better; Callie could care less.  
  
Callie sighed again and headed home.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Saturday evening had arrived and Callie was having more regrets about placing the bet than she ever thought possible. One wager had determined her humiliation. Sure, it was just one night, but it was a night that the newsies would remember and torment her about later. Callie smoked a cigarette up in her balcony watching her newsies mess around below. A few were getting ready for their dates, and others were just horsing around. She stubbed out her cigarette and hopped down to go to her room. She had about an hour before she needed to be at Medda's. Callie paced restlessly. She stopped every minute to glare at the dress. She sighed heavily and gave in to her punishment.  
  
Callie stripped herself of her clothes and pulled the dress over her head. The bottom of it was loose enough for her to run if she ever felt the urge but the top portion would rip if she did so.  
  
She turned in a slow circle allowing the gracefulness of the brown dress to settle upon her. Annoyed for falling prey to such foolish ideas, Callie turned to her makeshift mirror and examined her hair. She pulled out the pins and bands letting the knot settle out. Her thick dark hair tumbled down to the small of her back. Little snarls and tangles held it captive. She sighed again and reached for her brush. After a while, the braids were gone, leaving long wavy brown strands hanging around her face. Once again, Callie looked at her reflection and sighed.  
  
Defeated, she stepped out of her room. A few of her newsies stopped and stared. Callie stopped them with a glare. "Let's go, guys. Don't want to be late, do we," she muttered unhappily. The crowd walked together. Callie smoked another cigarette on the way there, hoping it would calm her down. Unfortunately, it didn't. The cigarette only made her more edgy. Upon arriving, Callie found all the Manhattan newsies and a few Brooklyn ones to already be there. Immediately Callie's newsies dispersed to find others or their dates, leaving Callie alone with her thoughts.  
  
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Someone behind her snickered.  
  
Callie whirled around with her fists drawn. "Say it again."  
  
Spot just laughed at her. There was a blonde girl at his side. She was hanging all over him, however, Spot ignored her and focused on Callie. "Glad to see you decided to show, Cards." He smirked and walked off with the blonde.  
  
"Up yours, Spot," Callie murmured. She walked off to the bar. "Give me something, anything." She gladly took whatever the bartender had given her. She downed it in a second. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she looked around the crowded place. Racetrack was in the corner leading some sort of card game. Callie grinned for the first time that day. Slowly she ambled over to play some cards.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
After a while, Callie was tired of the low caliber of the card players. Many of them were drunk, some were just plain bad. Callie, herself, headed off to the bar to get another drink. Once there, she met up with Spot again, only this time, he was with a brunette. Callie smirked.  
  
"I see you keep busy." She laughed at him as he glared at her. She sat down next to the pair at the bar. Spot looked her over once.  
  
"You don't look that bad you know. If you'd just stop being such an ass all the time." None of Spot's words were slurred so Callie knew he was serious. His words were strange to her ears though.  
  
"Me? An ass? Never!" Callie rolled her eyes. "Can't afford to trust people, you know. You never know how they'll turn out." She thought back a ways. Callie bit her lip at the painful memories.  
  
Spot's voice brought Callie back to Irving Hall. "Yeah, you are an ass, always causing some sort of trouble." He shook his head. Callie glared at him.  
  
"Watch what you say, I can take you."  
  
"I doubt ya could wearin' that thing." Spot lifted his eyebrows at the challenge.  
  
"I could find a way."  
  
"Spot. You're ignoring me again," the brunette whimpered. The sight of her was pitiful. Spot just rolled his eyes.  
  
"Spot," Callie mocked her. Spot glared. "Oh come on. Are you going to just sit there?" The look Spot was giving Callie should have melted rock, but Callie was having too much fun annoying the pair to let it go.  
  
"What do you think you're doing, girl?" The brunette was looking angrily at Callie now.  
  
This is too much fun, she thought. "Spot, you promised me a dance!"  
  
Spot saw the opportunity and grabbed at it. It was his turn to embarrass Callie. "Yeah I did, didn't I." He grinned wickedly, then grabbed at Callie's hand pulling her out to where the others were dancing. The brunette stayed behind, pouting. Callie glowered at Spot. She started to pull away, but Spot stopped her. "So you're actually going to let me win a round? I thought that was against your policy." He smirked at her sinister gaze.  
  
The two danced wildly, banging into several other couples. Both were fighting for the lead, wanting the other to give in first. Soon, because of numerous clashes with other dancers, Spot and Callie were drawn even closer, their bodies pressed together. Callie still sported a cold look. She wasn't happy about their position, but she wasn't about to pull away and let him win. Spot was faced with the same dilemma. Race happened to notice the two almost sworn enemies dancing and his jaw dropped. Quickly, he nudged a few others, gathering Spot and Callie quite an audience.  
  
When the music stopped, neither let go of the other, daring the other to let go first. Their faces were inches apart. Their eyes were locked in a power struggle that neither would ever win. Many of the newsies had stopped what they were doing, just to watch Callie and Spot. There was a sudden silence in the rowdy party. The two realized what a spectacle they must be: Spot's arm around Callie's waist holding her very close to him while she had her arm slung around his neck, their other hands clasped together. The embarrassment was overwhelming, but still neither let go. Someone had to give up eventually.  
  
A crash was heard near the door causing all the attention to be drawn away from Spot and Callie. They too turned to look at the door, moving only their heads. Two very disgustingly dirty boys had stumbled through the door. One's eyes were bloodshot and evil looking while the other's eyes were dull and emotionless. The bigger one, with the bloodshot eyes, had a snarl on his ugly face.  
  
"No!" Callie whispered harshly. The word was sharp in Spot's ear. Immediately, Callie dropped from Spot's grasp and was down on her knees, trying to hide. Spot bent down with her. "How the hell…?" She whispered.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he whispered back at her, trying not to be heard over the mutters of the other newsies inspecting the two boys.  
  
"You gotta get me out of here, Spot. I mean it really." She looked into his eyes and for the first time ever Callie showed someone her fear. Spot was taken aback by the lack of security over her emotions. There was honest fright in her eyes. "I can't explain now, but I've got to get out of here. Is there a back door or something?"  
  
Spot nodded quickly, reacting to the intensity in her voice. "Go back by the stage, and there's a door there. I'll make sure the guys don't find ya." Callie nodded her thanks at him and left quickly, close to the floor. Spot stood up and made his way toward Jack.  
  
"Where's Cards?" Jack asked tightly. "She should be here."  
  
"She's safe, just get these guys out of here."  
  
The biggest guy spoke finally. "Where's Callie? Where is that girl?" He sneered. He spoke with a thick German accent, behind the slurs.  
  
"We ain't got no Callie around here," Race spoke up.  
  
"That's an unusual name for dese parts," Specs added. Both were oblivious to the fact that Cards' name was really Callie.  
  
Spot silenced the two with a glance and looked the guy up and down. They were strong, mostly likely drugged too. The mob of newsies could take them if need-be, but Spot wasn't worried. "What would you want with that girl anyway?" Some of the newsies cast curious glances at him, but Spot ignored them.  
  
"We got business ta settle with her, not with you, shrimp, so back off," the smaller one threatened.  
  
Spot raised his hands and smirked. "Fine, fine. Go then." He crossed his arms and glared. The two shrugged and left with a final word.  
  
"You see a girl named Callie, tell her, her friends want ta see 'er." The big blonde laughed and slammed the front door.  
  
The interruption gone, the party began again in full swing. Spot sighed. Now he wanted information and he knew that getting it was going to be difficult because it was from the one person who frustrated him most: Callie. Spot slipped through the throngs of people and off towards the back entrance.  
  
Upon walking outside, he found Callie sitting on the step smoking a cigarette. He snorted and shook his head, then sat down beside her. She continued to ignore him and look off into the distance.  
  
"So you make a big deal about gettin' them out only to stick around for them to find you? I don't get you, Callie." Spot ran a hand through his hair and replaced his cap. He too looked off in space.  
  
Callie stubbed out her cigarette. "That's the point. You aren't supposed to get me, but if you want an answer, I have one." She looked to Spot for confirmation. He nodded, so Callie continued. "I knew you'd want an explanation. You deserve one, so I figured…" She shrugged.  
  
Spot nodded, understanding that some things were expected and given, no questions asked. Spot understood Callie better now than ever before, but he knew that knowing her left himself open for her to understand him. It was a risk that Callie had taken, so he would trust her, and do the same.  
  
He seemed to change discussion topics then, but they both knew that everything centered on the one question. "You always talk about the power. So tell me. Who has the authority now?" Spot looked at her now.  
  
Callie drew in a breath before answering. She hadn't wanted him to ask that question. "You do," she said, her voice void of emotion. She looked him in the eyes. "You saved my ass in there, I owe you now." Callie answered as if it explained everything. Spot was silent for a few minutes trying to decipher what was written in her eyes. He got nowhere, but accepted her answer. The new trust was formed, an alliance that neither had expected.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
And, that's the end folks. Thanks for reading it. Now, leave me reviews! :)  
  
Oh yes, and the sequel and the third in the trilogy probably won't be up for a while. I have yet to edit those. However, if you are REALLY anxious to read it... www.geocities.com/darkcloud04/newsies/fanfiction/authority.html. Go there. :) 


End file.
